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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28551336">and i'll never go home again (i'm the one you tell your fears to)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mfscheamer/pseuds/mfscheamer'>mfscheamer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Homeless, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explosions, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Homeless Peter Parker, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Out of Character May Parker (Spider-Man), Peter Parker Has a Family, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Protective Sam Wilson, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:02:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,053</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28551336</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mfscheamer/pseuds/mfscheamer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>And because Peter is probably on the verge of severe hypothermia and is no longer paying attention to his surroundings, he manages to get a glass door right to the face. </p>
<p>“Whoa, whoa, whoa, kid, I’m sorry! Are you good?” </p>
<p>or</p>
<p>5 times Sam was there for Peter +1 time Peter was there for him</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker &amp; Avengers Team, Peter Parker &amp; Sam Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>576</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Best Peter Parker Fluff Fics, The Best Peter Parker Whump Fics, The Best of the Best MCU Fics, best Marvel fics!</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>and i'll never go home again (i'm the one you tell your fears to)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>1.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter Parker could only describe his face as haunted - or maybe just sad - as he passes the window of a random shop. His gaunt cheeks give him the whole renaissance painting vibe, along with his pale skin. His hair is dripping over his forehead, reaching the tip of his nose and obscuring his eyes. It gives him the sad puppy dog look, the kind that makes moms hand him singles. The t-shirt he’s been wearing for a week and a half is soaking wet, sticking to him like a second skin and showing off his concave stomach and bony shoulders wonderfully. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He moves on from the window, continuing down a random Manhattan street. The loose rubber soles of his sneakers slapping along the sidewalk as his waterlogged socks make his toes curl in discomfort. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter isn’t lost, he couldn’t get lost after living on the streets for the past two years, but his normal entrance to the old and dilapidated department store was blocked by a group of chain smokers. They probably would’ve let him past, snickered as he clomped through the door and left a trail behind, but Peter hates confrontation. So, now he’s taking the long way around, which means walking another four miles to hit the back road that’ll take him to the broken window on the side of the building. Anything to avoid getting laughed at, he guesses.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sleeping behind a dumpster is always an option, he supposes, but Peter doesn’t like alleyways. They make him feel too exposed, since he would be. He hasn’t slept behind a building in six months, not since he lost fifty dollars in savings to a man half out of his mind. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So, department store. With rats and probably asbestos. Maybe a ghost or two. The ghosts don’t steal though. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As he walks, he passes shops, high-end stuff with price tags that would’ve made him wince even before he had five dollars to his name. A couple have windbreakers hanging in the window, one has a thick wool coat. Peter feels himself get colder as he lets himself get caught up in the fantasy of actually owning something like that. Winter’s right around the corner, after all, and the coat he had managed to grab last year is in tatters now, moths having eaten through it during the summer. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And because Peter is probably on the verge of severe hypothermia and is no longer paying attention to his surroundings, he manages to get a glass door right to the face. The pain leaves his ears ringing a bit, and his vision takes a second to focus. He somehow stops himself from landing on his ass in the middle of the crowded sidewalk and instead hits his shoulder on the brick wall of the building that the door is attached to.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoa, whoa, whoa, kid, I’m sorry! Are you good?” That’s probably the man that just bonked Peter with a door. Peter shakes his head, trying to get rid of the dizziness but only manages to make his brain feel like the inside of a maraca. At last, he focuses. The man in front of him is smiling now, looking at Peter with raised eyebrows. “Seein’ one again?” Peter nods. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” The man has dark skin, darker eyes, a nice smile, and is wearing a poncho. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m real sorry, man, I wasn’t paying attention. My bad.” Seemingly Nice Guy has his hand on Peter’s shoulder now and Peter feels the warmth of his palm like an electric shock. “I’m Sam.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seemingly Nice Guy is Sam. He sort of looks like a Sam. The hand that was on his shoulder is now stuck in front of him. Handshake, right. Human interaction. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He takes Seemingly Nice Guy Sam’s hand. “Peter,” he says. Huh, he just told someone his name. Sam seems to notice how Peter’s fingers are ice blocks and raises a brow. He has nice eyebrows, very trimmed. “How long you been out here, kid?” Kid. Peter doesn’t feel like a kid. Hasn’t. He retracts his hand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter shrugs, “Two years. Three soon.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” Sam seems taken aback by this information, like he was expecting the answer to be an hour. Peter doesn’t know why, his appearance definitely plays the part of homeless well enough. Sam looks up at the sky, darkening because of the time or maybe the clouds. Either way, it’s getting colder. “Where ya staying?” He asks, like Peter’s a tourist. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s a place with a roof another mile from here.” His department store <em>does</em> have a roof, it just needs some work. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’ll be alright getting there?” Sam’s brows are furrowed, he’s thinking. Peter wants to know what about. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Sam smiles again and looks distressed, just a bit. Then he’s digging around in the inside pocket of his poncho. Peter tenses, ready to run, or to fight if needed. But Sam only pulls out cash. A small stack of it. Peter’s face slackens, mouth dropping open in realization. He hands it over like it’s nothing. It has to be like eighty bucks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, Mr. Sam, sir, I really don’t know what to say-“ Definitely Nice Guy - Possibly Rich - Sam laughs, and it makes Peter smile. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s-it’s not a problem, kid. Peter.” He pats the money that’s in Peter’s palm. “Stay safe, take care of yourself.” Sam smiles and turns around, walking the opposite direction that Peter is going. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, as Peter folds the money between his fingers and his palm to keep it dry, a grin stretches across his face. He probably seems like a murderer or something to anyone bothering to notice him but he doesn’t really care.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s getting a coat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>2.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s just trying to get a goddamn sandwich, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>hungry</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he’s missing two dollars from his pocket and the cashier is being </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupidly</span>
  </em>
  <span> stubborn. He’s been giving Peter this unimpressed stare since the teenager had first asked to cut him some slack and has only gotten increasingly impatient. Peter clutches the sandwich bag tighter between his fingers but just as he opens his mouth to try </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> more time, the guy cuts him off. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, kid, I’ll keep it behind the counter and you can run home to mommy and ask for a couple more bucks, how’s that?” His condescending smile is obviously supposed to be him making fun of Peter’s age, but coupled with the words </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>mommy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it takes on a whole different meaning. Peter snaps his mouth shut, slides the sandwich across the counter, and takes a step back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No need, have a good day.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The whipping, cold wind outside the convenience store stings his eyes as he starts walking towards the park, he can probably find a concession stand or something. But he had really wanted that sandwich. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> gotten a coat, though, so at least his upper-body was protected from the cold. He’d especially needed it and his new shoes this week since the sun hadn’t been out at all in the past few days, clouds either sprinkling rain or just blocking out Peter’s source of heat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he reaches Central Park and doesn’t see any hot dog stands immediately, he decides it’s too much work to look around for one. Instead, he sits down on a bench and pulls the hood over his head, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged. He feels like the pouting child that the cashier was treating him like. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The hunger settling deep in his stomach has started to become painful, stabbing even, but he doesn’t really wanna move, so he doesn’t. He focuses on the grass at the edge of the sidewalk, blowing on his fingers every few minutes to get some sensation back into them. Thanksgiving is two weeks away and across the street, a woman turns on Christmas lights that frame the window of her flower shop. Peter focuses back on the grass. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He zones out some time later, maybe even dozes off, but snaps out of it as his name is called from somewhere above him. He jerks and almost goes cross-eyed because the person is a lot closer than he assumed, but the man takes a step back and oh, it’s Sam. Peter breaks out into a smile without really meaning to. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Pete, you doing okay?” Sam asks, offering a fist for Peter to bump in greeting.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, for sure. Living the life, y’know?” He doesn’t mean to sound so happy, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>c’mon</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the guy gave him<em> eighty</em></span>
  <em>
    <span>dollars</span>
  </em>
  <span> a month ago. “Got a coat,” he tugs at the lapel, and is pretty sure Sam gets that it’s another thank you.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Very nice, stylish.” Sam pats his shoulder and then sits down next to him. Peter blinks at him. “So, how’s your day been?” And Definitely Nice Guy Sam is starting a conversation with Nice But Insignificant Peter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Eh, pretty good. It was too cold last night to sleep really well, but I snagged enough hours and this lady let me pet her dog this morning. It was a golden retriever and his name was Oscar and I think he liked me cause he didn’t really wanna leave me behind but the lady had to go home and make lunch for her kids even though it was like ten AM. And then I got two bucks from a guy in a suit, and I wanted to get something to eat but the sandwiches at Tom’s are four bucks which is outrageous so I haven’t eaten, but what can you do, y’know? Then I came here to sit, and I’ve been sitting for a while, not sure how long, though. And now I’m talking to you.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam nods along, watching as Peter waves his hands around at nothing with something like surprise on his face. Peter realizes he’s rambling halfway through, but decides it would be too awkward to just stop, so he keeps going. Talking has always been a little easy for him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We can go get lunch, if you want.” Sam offers immediately after he finishes talking. “There’s a deli like two blocks from here, it’s where I usually go after my runs.” Peter starts to stutter out a half-assed decline but his stomach practically flips in excitement at the mention of </span>
  <em>
    <span>deli.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That-that sounds nice, but Sam you really, like, don’t have to? I don’t want you to waste money on me-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Kid, come on.” Sam pulls him off the bench and drapes an arm over Peter’s shoulder, steering him down the path. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What about your day?” Peter tries to start their conversation back up as they step in tandem down the street. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s been good so far, I got to sleep in, which I never get to do. I went running through Brooklyn with my friend this morning. Uh, went home, had a smoothie, and now I’m talking to you.” He finishes with a smile, pulling Peter closer by the neck. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What makes you not able to sleep in? Job?” Peter guesses the obvious and receives a nod. “What do you do?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I, uh, I guess I work with the Avengers. Somewhat.” And for some reason that’s what makes it click that this is Sam </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wilson</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Wilson as in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Falcon</span>
  </em>
  <span>. An </span>
  <em>
    <span>Avenger. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, my God, I’m an idiot.” Peter says, astounded. Sam laughs at this. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s good, kid. People don’t usually see me like this. Without the goggles, y’know.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok, yeah, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>still.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Wow.” They walk for a few more moments in silence, Peter processing the whole thing before speaking, “I think the goggles look cool.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam rolls his eyes, “all right, kiss-ass.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The deli they arrive at is bigger than the one that Peter used to go to. This one, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Andy’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>the sign says, has a seating area near the windows, and a bigger menu, and more people working. Sam seems to know a good amount of the workers, bumping fists with them the way he did with Peter and offering small talk as they work on their meals. He even introduces Peter to the cashier. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam takes a seat near the corner, passing Peter’s sandwich across the table as he unwraps his own. Peter munches happily, finally having got the food he’s wanted for three hours. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So, should I ask?” Peter hums in question, wiping his mouth with the napkin once he finishes wolfing down the tuna melt. “How old you are? What you’re doing on the streets and not in school?” Peter would’ve choked if he had still been eating. He’s not surprised Sam asked, since he’s been calling him kid the entire time so he obviously knows he’s young and he knows he’s homeless. But still, it caught Peter off guard a little bit. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘M seventeen. Got kicked out.” Peter tries not to think about </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span> too often, finds himself getting choked up or a little mad sometimes when he does. “She said something about being too expensive to care for, needing to get a smaller apartment and not having the space for me. I don’t know, it was a while ago.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Your mom said that?” Sam asks. His eyes are screaming with pity, which is annoying but Peter doesn’t comment. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Aunt. Parents died when I was really young.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Damn, kid, I’m sorry.” Peter just shrugs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I lived through it. I’m here.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. You are. I’m proud of you, Pete.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks.” And for some reason, Sam’s pride, whether he means or not, makes Peter feel better.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>3.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He runs into Sam more often in the next week and a half then is statistically probable in a place like New York, which is why he’s able to force Sam into a confession of seeking Peter out at times. It makes Peter feel a bit bad since he doesn’t exactly have a hang-out spot other than the store, and he still hasn’t told Sam where that is, which means that Sam is likely just wandering the streets of Manhattan, looking for a boy that blends in with a crowd easier than he breathes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But Peter doesn’t really like staying in one place, out in the open at least. Too many variables that all lead to one Ending of Peter Parker. That’s just what the streets are like sometimes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For one, people like to stake their claim to alleyways or areas of the park. Staying in one place is too much of a risk, no matter if it looks empty or not. Some people would understand a mistake but others wouldn’t. Peter knows the fear of having things stolen, and in reality, if he were to settle down in an area like that, he probably wouldn’t want people infringing within his borders either. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But because he’s Peter and the inevitable is, well… inevitable, that’s exactly what he’s managed to do. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Honestly, he had thought he’d seen a dog or something in the shadows and had stepped off the sidewalk for less than five seconds but either a group of muggers (or serial killers) had been waiting for someone dumb enough to investigate the alley or thought that a five-foot-something teenage boy was a genuine threat because as soon as he was in the alleyway, someone had snagged his arm and thrown him further out of sight. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So far, Peter’s been able to make out about three guys that all have him backed against a wall. They’re really just yelling at him, or degrading him in some way. One of them has a knife, pocket sized but still glinting in a way that demands Peter’s attention. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Here’s the thing, Peter hasn’t completely been upfront of himself so far. Nice but Insignificant Peter is actually pretty damn Significant in some ways, just not in this life. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For close to three years now, New York - and especially in the beginning, Queens - has had a vigilante. Spider-Man, he’d been dubbed. Back- flipping, web-slinging, cat-saving, Spider-Man. And Spider-Man could definitely handle three barely armed guys (maybe not a group bigger than five if there’s anyone else hiding out behind corners). But the street is still visible from where Peter is backed into the shadows, and while an alleyway scrap will most likely go unnoticed, three fully grown men getting their asses handed to them by a kid might not. Peter will let Spider-Man go viral, but he can’t risk his own identity getting leaked because of a stupid mistake. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Guys,” he tries, voice wavering, “hold on. I don’t have anything, I promise. No money or food, not even a backpack.” Because his backpack is at the department store, keeping his suit and his savings safe. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You got that coat,” one shadow-distorted face comments from his left. He’s sort of small, maybe smaller than Peter, but the teenager doesn’t trust the way he’s crouched forward like a cat preparing to pounce. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And that face of yours.” Howling laughter bounces off the walls and echoes like it’s Peter’s doom to die here following Middle Guy’s comment. Peter feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end at the implication and he can’t tell if it’s his sixth sense warning him of danger or just the deep feeling of discomfort at the pit of his stomach. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter finds himself drawing a blank. He can’t take any action against them, and it’s not like he’s a trained negotiator so he has no idea how to even</span>
  <em>
    <span> start </span>
  </em>
  <span>de-escalating the situation. He finds himself scrambling backwards against the wall as the circle closes in further, the knife guy starts making wide sweeping motions, laughing as he does. Peter feels himself pale. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His sixth sense starts buzzing, screaming really, as Small Dude makes a lunge towards him and wrestles him away from the wall, so now Peter is completely surrounded. His back being exposed makes it all the worse, and in pure fight-or-flight, he swings around and clocks what had been the Middle Guy right in the jaw. He goes stumbling back, clutching his face and shouting with pain. Or maybe anger. Peter thinks he heard a crack when his fist collided with the bone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Knife guy throws his head back and cackles, full on Disney Villain style, “oh, you’re in for it now!” Peter’s senses flare as a fist comes back his way, nailing him right in the nose and bringing tears to his eyes. He feels blood start dripping down his face, too caught up in the pain to realize he’s stumbled back into the clutches of Small Guy who is attempting to tear the coat off his shoulders. He feels the fabric yanking at his shoulder sockets and jumps forward again, clearing his head as best as he can so he can to watch the guy who’s stalking towards him again, but before he can do that there’s a knee in his stomach.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” he whispers as he goes down, choking on the bile that rises up his throat. They’re laughing, but he can hardly hear it over the ringing in his ears as Middle Guy knocks his head around. “Please,” Peter tries again, and oh, that’s blood on his lip. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A hand is suddenly in his hair and tugging hard enough to leave his scalp stinging. Someone is crouched next to him, maybe the person who owns the hand but Peter can’t tell. Then he feels the edge of the knife press against his cheek bone and freezes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Take the jacket off, kiddo.” Knife Guy says, twisting the dirty strands of Peter’s hair around his fingers and pulling harder, then tracing a line straight down the teenager‘s cheek. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine, fine,” he says, trembling, “can we ease up with the sharp object, though?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The guy mutters something but backs off and Peter starts taking his beloved coat off, wincing as a heel digs into his knee. Right as the collar gets past his shoulders and another hand is tugging at the fabric, a voice comes from down the alley. Peter flinches as all three men move at the same time to block Peter from sight. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey! What’s goin’ on down there?” And Peter knows that voice, fairly well by now. His smile pulls at his split lip and when he winces, it brings a new ache to his nose. But still, Sam’s voice is a relief. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“C’mon man, we don’t want any trouble with you. Just turn around and keep walkin’.” One of the guys says, and panic starts to boil in Peter’s stomach at the thought of being left alone, but luckily he doesn’t hear any retreating footsteps. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, no can do. Step away before I gotta do something about it.” Peter’s never really heard Sam threaten anyone, but he’s sorta glad he’s not on the receiving end. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In a rush of baseless courage, Peter takes a deep breath and throws himself away from the men, yelling over the commotion that breaks out, “Sam! It’s me, Peter!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Middle Guy and Knife Guy go to grab Peter’s arms again but he manages to scramble away and stand. His knees buckle as he dodges a fist but manages to send a kick back, even if it’s a weak one. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter!? What the hell did you do to get into something like this?” Sam is grabbing the hood of Middle Guy and wrenching him backwards as he addresses Peter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing! I swe</span>
  <em>
    <span>ar</span>
  </em>
  <span>!</span>
  <em>
    <span>” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Peter squeaks as a blade comes too close to his throat for comfort. The knife is definitely something to deal with. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter anxiously flicks his eyes up to Sam, who’s handling the Middle Guy further up the alley. He decides to risk it and whirls around, managing a decent kick to Knife Guy’s knee, which brings him down long enough for Peter to step on his wrist and get the knife away from him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam has Middle Guy beat when it comes to hand-to-hand combat which leads to him surrendering and shooting a filthy glare at Peter as he escorts himself back onto the sidewalk. The small guy is lying knocked out on his back, a broken hand useless beside him. Knife Guy leaves as well, eyes never straying from the blade in Peter’s hand as he does. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter blinks and suddenly Sam is in front of him, hands on his shoulders and checking over Peter’s face. “Wanna explain what exactly I just walked into?” He says after pulling away and letting Peter adjust the coat back into place. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They snatched me up, Sammy. Nothin’ to worry about.” He tries for a careless smile but the blood on his teeth probably skewers his attempt spectacularly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure,” Sam says disbelievingly, “c’mon.” He starts to walk away and Peter hurries to catch up, limping as his knee protests the movement. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are we going?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“To CVS so I can empty a bottle of disinfectant on your face and stick some band-aids on there too,” Sam replies and Peter can hear the eye roll. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam does end up putting too many band-aids on Peter’s face, so Peter retaliates by sticking one right across Sam’s eyebrow. He laughs at Sam’s angry muttering hard enough to make his injured stomach ache even more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>4. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter goes Spider-Manning - real, true Spider-Manning - for the first time in he doesn’t know how long a couple weeks after the alleyway scrap. The beginning of December is as frigid as it is every year, the air nips at his skin late at night and he relies on every piece of fabric he owns to keep at least semi-warm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s like a breath of fresh air. Like coming home. He feels like he belongs when he’s way up above the taxis and dirty streets, hanging on by a single thread. His suit is torn up a bit, and offers virtually zero protection against the wind whipped up by his speed but he doesn’t mind. The adrenaline from free-falling every few minutes warms him up enough. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He whoops as he swings alongside a train, waving at the people staring slack-jawed at him through the window with a grin they can’t see. Being Spider-Man just brings so much joy to Peter, he almost feels like he’s choking on it as he swings aimlessly around, keeping an eye out for anyone causing trouble. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s already stopped a mugging, and he escorted the girl to the police station to file a report, then was off with a</span>
  <em>
    <span> thwip</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He hasn’t seen much else since then, other than a loose balloon that he returned to a screaming child. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And honestly, it’s going good. He feels important and noticed and maybe even a little confident as he flips through the air, wind rushing past his ears as he swings in an arc around a skyscraper. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What stops him in his tracks however, is a set of TVs in a window, all displaying a picture of Spider-Man’s face, or mask, in the corner and Tony Stark sitting at a table with a mic in front of him. Peter swings in another circle before coming to a stop by sticking to a building. He scrambles down and walks up to the window, ignoring the bewildered stares of the people on the sidewalk as he focuses on the captions on the screen. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The Avengers Initiative would like to make this an invitation for Spider-Man to join our team, before the government or any other straggling groups of superheroes get to you first. We offer a full-time place of residence, as well as any training programs that you could benefit from. You are not obligated to come to us, this is only serving as an invitation. But we have decided that we are your best option. Thank you. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter is left staring open-mouthed as the video cuts off and then starts to play again. What the hell is he supposed to do with that? The Avengers want him? He’s nothing compared to them, like a toy ship in a group of war vessels! </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You gonna join them, Spidey?” A woman asks from beside him and he turns so fast he nearly falls. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I-, uh, I don’t know? I-I’ll think about it,” he manages to stammer out. The woman doesn’t really notice his struggle to form words and stay on his feet at the same time, too focused on looking up at the screen as the news casters discuss the invitation. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow, Spider-Man. A part of the Avengers. Feels overdue.” But when she turns back to look at the wallcrawler, he’s already swung away. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter sits with his head in his hands for a long, long time. He thinks as he does. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Avengers don’t know he’s sixteen, they don’t know about Ben or May, they don’t realize </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>doesn’t even know the extent of his powers, they don’t know he built everything that </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> Spider-Man with an old computer, basic science, and old pajamas that he cut up and sewed together. They’ll realize they made a mistake recruiting him before he’s even assigned a mission. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Someone sits down beside him, he senses it, but he doesn’t look up. He’s too busy rubbing his thumbs against his temples as some treatment for the pressure building up against his skull. What the hell. The Avengers. Full-time residence. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ight, I’ll bite. What’s causing this crisis.” Peter almost, </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> chuckles but then he remembers it’s Sam. Wilson. The Falcon. An</span>
  <em>
    <span> Avenger.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He freezes. Fuck, this is not about to help. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I stepped on a dog’s tail,” he jokes, not moving from where he’s been positioned for the past twenty minutes. Sam’s gonna look into his eyes and see Spider-Man and then Peter’s life will be over. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’ll do it.” Peter hears him slide closer, then there’s a hand on his shoulder. “C’mon kid, your wrists are gonna snap from having to hold up that big head of yours.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m trying to decide whether to report you for bullying. My head’s not big.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re deflecting.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter looks up, daylight searing his vision and not helping the still forming headache. He squints and turns away from the offensive ball of light. Sam raises his eyebrows when Peter faces him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You look like hell,” he says. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter folds his lips together and nods, “thanks.” Sam grins at that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, look at that! He’s got some sass.” Peter rolls his eyes but grins nonetheless, shoving at Sam’s shoulder with his own. “Now, seriously, what’s up?” Peter doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t know what to say. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you see that Spider-Man got recruited for the Avengers?” That is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> what he meant to say. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam raises his eyebrows, “yeah, I was a part of that discussion.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. I forgot,” Peter did not forget, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>last</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing he did was forget, “what do you think?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I don’t know the guy. He seems young, probably too young to be in the superhero game, but no one really knows his backstory, so.” He pauses, “he has skill, though. Promise.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter presses his thumbs to the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his breathing steady as Sam talks. He is young, young enough not to know what the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’s doing. Yeah, he has skill, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>guesses.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He fumbles too much when he dodges and he never learned how to properly throw a punch. He relies too much on his webs and crawling up walls, and also makes too many mistakes that could result in someone dying </span>
  <em>
    <span>way</span>
  </em>
  <span> too often. But he’s managed to take down robbers and other criminals without causing himself any death, so skills? Maybe bullshitting his way through superhero-ing, lying to people he cares about, and not being good enough to save everyone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter?” Sam’s voice snaps him out of the whirlpool that is his mind and Peter realizes he’s bowed his head again and is rubbing at his temples hard enough to make the tips of his fingers go white. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, I was-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Rambling? Yeah, I realized.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s head snaps up. “What,” he deadpans. Panic starts to boil in his chest, stirring up his heart into a frantic rhythm that pounds in his ears. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“About how Spidey isn’t good at his job? I had no idea you felt so strongly.” Peter’s gonna pass out. Sam’s face is completely straight, he’s just staring as Peter feels his organs start shutting down before finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sam laughs. He throws his head back and belts out a laugh that’s enough to make Peter forget why he’s about to die for a second. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“C’mon, man, I’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>heard </span>
  </em>
  <span>Spider-Man’s voice. You think I’m dumb enough to not realize he’s you?” While his heart is still pumping at an alarming rate, Peter feels it sink at the same time. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So, you’ve only been talking to me because I’m- because you guys wanted to… recruit me? Do the others know who I am too?” Sam’s face falls instantly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no, no, kid. I hang out with Peter ‘cause Peter’s pretty damn awesome. I didn’t know about that ‘till a couple of weeks ago. The others don’t know about you, I promise,” Peter still hasn’t quite calmed down, but he can breathe a little easier with that information, “and I won’t tell them either.” That helps too.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They sit in silence for a while, Peter trying to regain control of his lungs while Sam rubs circles between his shoulder blades. “So, did you come find me to talk me into taking the offer?” Peter gives his best care-free grin and Sam shrugs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I came to talk to you about it, not really </span>
  <em>
    <span>convince</span>
  </em>
  <span> you,” he responds, turning to face Peter more directly. The teenager copies him. “I think it’ll be good for you, y’know? You’d have somewhere to live, you could go back to school, team would help you with training, learn how to strategize and whatever.” Peter raises a brow. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And I’d be the lowest ranking member because they’re not going to trust me enough to send me on actual missions or whatever you guys call them. I’ll be on the sidelines everytime something bad happens. And I also wouldn’t be surprised if you put a </span>
  <em>
    <span>curfew </span>
  </em>
  <span>on me,” Peter breathes out a sigh. “Be honest. Is this… recruitment thing happening because the Avengers want me as an asset, or because they’re scared I’ll go bad guy?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam blinks at him. “They’re scared someone’s going to get to you first.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Like the </span>
  <em>
    <span>government</span>
  </em>
  <span>, right.” Peter crosses his arms, slouching and being totally aware of how defensive and childish he looks by doing so. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, kid. The</span>
  <em>
    <span> government</span>
  </em>
  <span> doesn’t know who you are, what you’re capable of, what your intentions are-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m pretty sure I’ve made my </span>
  <em>
    <span>intentions </span>
  </em>
  <span>pretty clear by now, Sammy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-and if you end up making a mistake, end up hurting someone - whether it’s an accident or not - they can find you and you’ll be on the Raft like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Sam snaps his fingers in front of Peter’s nose because Peter has his chin touching his chest at this point. “We, as the Avengers, can help </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>make that happen because if you’re not a free-lancing vigilante, then they can’t do anything to you. There’ll be repercussions, but not </span>
  <em>
    <span>prison</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter decides not to comment on… </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> of that because he doesn’t know what to say. It’s a pretty good argument on Sam’s part. Peter will have to ask if he was on the debate team or something at a different time. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What about my identity? How’s that gonna be handled?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam hesitates before chuckling a little awkwardly, “I think you’ll find it difficult to hide your identity while living in a building with superheroes that have trained themselves to notice everything. And I mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s probably best for you to introduce yourself as Peter, but you can keep your face and name away from the public like you have been.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok. Ok, the second part is good.” Peter exhales heavily and laughs to himself, probably sounding half out of his mind, “why am I considering this. What am I doing.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey. Kid. Peter.” Both of Sam’s hands come up to rest on his shoulders and Peter looks up, eyes wide with indecision. “It’s okay. You don’t have to decide right now, none of us expect you to have an answer immediately. Give it a few days.” Sam’s eyes are earnest and Peter can tell he’s not judging him for having a breakdown over this, which is nice. Having Sam around to talk to at any time sounds nice, too. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright. I can do that. I can think about it,” Peter says, rubbing his hands against his worn down jeans. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know you can. I just <em>watched</em> you think about it for, like, fifteen minutes straight.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>5. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter says yes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter stupidly, mindlessly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>moronically</span>
  </em>
  <span> makes the biggest mistake of his life and says </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>. So now he’s been sitting next to Sam in the back of a fancy car with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>divider </span>
  </em>
  <span>and for like an hour and a half</span>
  <em>
    <span>,</span>
  </em>
  <span> shaking and going crazy because he doesn’t know what to do with the </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span> water bottle Sam handed him five minutes ago. He keeps tossing it in the air and flipping it around, dropping it every other second and swearing out loud. Sam’s laughing at him and Peter glares when he’s not leaning down to pick up the bottle. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His senses are going just a little bit wild, but the car is pretty dark (with tinted windows, Jesus). Peter can hear Sam’s heart beating at a regular pace while his is going literally crazy, like a rabbit, or a Peter going to meet a bunch of superheroes. He’s surprised his ribs haven't cracked from the force that his heart is hitting them with. Sam’s still laughing and it is</span>
  <em>
    <span> deafening</span>
  </em>
  <span> in his ears. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Pete, calm down. You’re not meeting your maker,” Sam says eventually, reaching over to hook his arm over Peter’s shoulder, like he does. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I could literally throw you out the window right now and not feel any guilt.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, well one,” Sam holds up a finger in front of his face, “rude. And two: the bodyguard tailing us would shoot you in retaliation.” Peter spins around in Sam’s grip to look behind them. There’s not a bodyguard tailing them. He scowls. Sam laughs louder as Peter slumps in his seat, having to struggle to lean away because Sam is fucking ripped - and while Peter has super-strength, he is also horribly malnourished. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually he sits up straight again so he can turn the A/C towards him, since he’s practically boiling alive even though it’s like 20 degrees outside. Sam’s still giggling as Peter finally just opens the water bottle and downs half of it in seconds. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are they gonna try and, like, intimidate me?” Peter asks because if the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Black Widow</span>
  </em>
  <span> gives him the death stare, he will </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> survive. This is a fact.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam shrugs indifferently. “Not actively. Clint might try at first but he won’t be able to hold a straight face long enough. Steve’s naturally intimidating because, y’know,” Sam makes a vague box shape with his hands. “Same with Nat, but she probably won’t speak more than four words. Tony’s just… a lot to take in at once. Bruce and Wanda are probably going to be the nicest. Vision is going to spout some random nonsense about who knows what. Rhodey and Thor aren’t there but you don’t have to worry about them either.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter feels immense relief at the news of Thor’s absence, but doesn’t show it because Sam is scarily good at reading him. He just nods along and doesn’t say anything until another minute passes. “If my voice cracks I’ll jump off the Empire State Building.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d catch you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fake friend.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At least Peter’s wearing new clothes, since meeting the Avengers with holes in his pants and a shirt hanging off his shoulders is not Peter’s idea of a great first impression. He’s got Sam’s shirt on, which means it still hangs on his frame a bit but it looks more like a choice, he got new jeans from Walmart and is still wearing his shoes and coat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Happy!” Sam yells, obnoxiously loud and right next to Peter’s ear. The divider snaps open. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want, Wilson?” The driver, Happy, asks with a dry tone that makes Peter sort of smile. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s no way to talk to your customers, Hipster. But how far are we?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony pays me, dumbass, you’re not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>customer.</span>
  </em>
  <span> We’re like ten minutes out.” The divider closes again before Sam can say anything else, and Peter actually laughs at the offended look on his face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter eventually ends up leaning against Sam instead of trying to pull away from him so he can watch the treeline blur past outside the window, and also maybe listen to the calm heartbeat instead of </span>
  <em>
    <span>comparing</span>
  </em>
  <span> it to the frantic rhythm of his own. Sam ruffles his hair, but doesn’t attempt at conversation until they’re pulling up to the gate of the compound. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Peter looks up at him, “it’ll be alright, ‘kay? I’ll be right beside you the whole time,” the way Sam whispers makes Peter think that the divider between them and Happy is for decoration, “just don’t embarrass me.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At Peter’s scathing look, Sam laughs and then they’re pulling up the almost comically long driveway, past this big open field and a row of buildings and warehouses that look very important. And fuck, Peter can see the the front of the building and the Avengers. Just hanging around and talking with each other. Because obviously they’re people, but still. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it too late to turn back?” Peter says, smile pulling oddly at the corners of his mouth as he feels his anxiety reach the top of the beaker and start bubbling over. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Happy deadpans from the front. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam squeezes Peter closer to him and then relaxes his grip when the car pulls to a stop, “You’ll be fine. I’m friends with these people, remember?” Peter does not remember because the only thing Peter is thinking about is how the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’s supposed to pull this off. Sam claps him on the back and then opens the door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter scrunches his eyes closed till he sees spots, breathes in and out, then follows. When his feet hit the concrete, his knees don’t buckle, which is good. He’s stable where his joints are concerned. He looks around, taking in the modern-ness of the building in front of him, and the others that are across the yard. He’s really doing anything to avoid making eye contact with people he’s been worshipping since he was like nine. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Spider-Boy!” Peter’s head turns on instinct because when people shout things right in front of him, he responds. He processes the words that Tony Stark (holy shit) just yelled at him and the back of his mind really has the audacity to be offended. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, Peter, actually,” he manages to get out and now this group of literal heroes know his name. “Parker,” he adds, because he knows all of their last names. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Stark.” Honestly, it was not his intention to say doctor instead of mister, his brain had just gotten sidetracked because</span>
  <em>
    <span> Bruce Banner </span>
  </em>
  <span>is standing a few feet away, but with the way Tony’s face lights up with a grin on the right side of cocky, he’s not really embarrassed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, look at that, someone finally knows what it means to have doctorates! It’s more than any of you have ever done,” Tony snarks at his teammates. Then he’s striding across the porch thing, and despite being the same height as him, Peter feels incredibly smaller. He takes Peter’s hand and shakes it briefly, tipping his head down to peer at the teenager from over the brim of his sunglasses. It’s, like, mostly cloudy, but Peter decides not to critique him. “Very nice to meet you, Peter Parker.” Embarrassingly, Peter just nods.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony steps off to the side, leaning into the car and talking to Happy about something which leaves Peter sort of just staring at Steve Rogers, who’s dressed down in a shirt that’s probably ten times too small for him and joggers. Peter makes a hand motion that he can’t even identify in greeting. Maybe like a half wave, half salute. “Cap-Captain,” his voice raises, like, an octave. He wonders if Happy would drive him to the Brooklyn Bridge. Steve’s lips quirk up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, Peter. Welcome to the team.” He’s about to respond with something that would probably embarrass him further, but then Peter’s sixth sense starts buzzing weirdly, not warning him of danger, per se, just of something </span>
  <em>
    <span>off</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Then Peter turns and sees Vision hovering slightly off the ground, head tilted towards the captain strangely. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, technically Mr. Rogers, Mr. Parker hasn’t signed the Accords, so he isn’t an official member of the Avengers.” Steve rolls his eyes while Peter scrunches his nose in distaste towards </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mr. Parker.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “But yes, welcome to the team, Mr. Parker.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam cuts in then, “dude, the kid’s like eight, no need for mister anything.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I haven’t been eight for a while, Sam, thank you,” Peter snarks at him, then leans over so he can bump him with his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If that’s what Mr. Parker prefers, then I won’t call him as such.” Vision turns towards Peter expectantly, and the teenager feels himself freeze under the robot’s? Android’s? He feels himself freeze under </span>
  <em>
    <span>Vision’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> stare and nods his head a little choppily. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, Peter’s… fine.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well then, Peter - if you are interested - me and Dr. Banner have been studying the latest clips of your-” Vision is quickly cut off by the aforementioned Dr. Banner who steps forward to shake hands with Peter like Tony had done. He’s smiling pleasantly, clad in wire frame glasses and a sweater with sleeves that hang over his fingers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No need to talk about that here, Vis. Hi, Peter, I’m Bruce.” Peter suddenly feels much more comfortable because - while Bruce Banner is definitely his hero when it comes to science - talking to him is much more Peter’s style of conversation. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, I know who you are, uh, Sir… Doctor. I’m a big fan. Uh, I read some of your work a while ago. Y-your work on antielectron collisions… just wow.” Peter freezes as he realizes he still has Banner’s hand clutched in his. He takes a step back, clasping his hands in front of him. “Sorry, I’m being weird. I’m sorry.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bruce shakes his head, smiling, “no, it’s not weird, Peter. I’m just surprised.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter jerks his head up, “oh. Okay. Well, then sorry. Again. For being weirder.” He hears Sam stifle a laugh with a poorly executed cough. Peter resists the urge to turn around and glare. Before he can, a giggle catches his attention and he looks beyond Vision’s shoulder to make eye contact with the Scarlet Witch. The embarrassment of being laughed at by an Avenger comes hot and quick up his face and he looks down. Sam coughs again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Lovely to meet you, Peter,” her accent slips on his name, “I've heard quite a lot about Spider-Man the past few days.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Peter looks up to share the sentiment, he notices that she’s holding her hands together behind her back. He eyes Vision, who is looking at her too, before returning the greeting, “yeah, wonderful to meet you too. The, uh, the thing you did in Hong Kong was pretty cool.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She tilts her head, half smiling, “you saw that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter chuckles a little nervously. He can feel Steve’s eyes burning a hole straight through his head. Captain America having laser vision honestly wouldn’t surprise him at this point. “Yeah, everyone sort of did.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, thanks.” She grins, and her hands fall to her sides. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Happy drives off a few seconds later and silence washes over the porch thing. Concrete square. Peter can hear Sam shuffle behind him, clearing his throat and then a hand lands on the teen’s shoulder. “Well, I’m gonna show him his new room. Might take him shopping later, and no, none of you are allowed to come.” Peter glances back to see Sam smile and then he’s being guided towards the glass doors that are the only thing between him and becoming an Avenger. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But before he can there… </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Clint, maybe not-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How come he gets to mingle with all of you and not us? We’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>clearly</span>
  </em>
  <span> the coolest here!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter attempts to look over his shoulder, but Sam puts his hand on the side of Peter’s head and forces him forward. “Keep walking, looking him in the eye gives him power.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not true.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t back talk me or I’ll ground you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t ground me or I’ll dropkick you.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re like a gazillion years old, you’re hip would dislocate.” Peter giggles at that. Sam has quit moving them forward, but he’s holding Peter’s head in place by covering his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus, that is so offensive. I’m forty-two, not Tony.” This is so not what Peter imagined Hawkeye to be like. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Barton, I can literally ruin your life, I don’t think you need to insult me.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this what it’s like all the time?” Peter tilts his head back, and even though he can’t see anything due to Sam’s hands, he’d like to imagine that he’s making direct eye contact with him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s usually worse,” a new voice says, low and sort of hoarse, and also female. Peter tries to turn his head - because, again, when new voices show up, he turns to acknowledge them - but Sam’s hands hold steady. Instead, Peter tilts his head and strains his ears. He picks up everyone’s heartbeats. The fastest ones, he imagines are Tony and Steve’s, the others hold pretty normal, and then an abnormally slow one. Probably Natasha. He strains further in that direction. She’s flicking her nails against eachother, probably looking around due to the swishing of her hair, and tapping her heel against the lawn chair's leg. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” he says, because what else is there? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Goddammit, kid, you’ve acknowledged her. This is horrible.” Peter flinches, because Sam is right behind the ears he’s been exerting with full force. Suddenly the hands are gone and on his shoulders again, “sorry, buddy,” Sam says. Peter is left staring directly at the duo in lawn chairs like ten feet away from him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint is grinning, toes tapping together in front of him as he sprawls unnaturally in the chair that is not meant for sprawling. Natasha is sitting normally, and her fingernails are still clicking against each other in a simple pattern. Peter thinks it might be a tic. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” Natasha returns with a grin that looks too real. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re Black Widow.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I am.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam and Tony snort at the same time, which is kinda scary. Peter flicks his eyes towards Tony, then back to Natasha. “Nice to meet you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Likewise.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam turns him forcefully by the shoulders and they start walking towards the door again. A hushed conversation erupts as soon as the glass door shuts behind them which makes a wave of anxiety crash over Peter’s head. He doesn’t eavesdrop, though, because that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>rude</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He finds himself in an elaborate and seemingly complicated foyer. Peter didn’t know foyers could </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span> complicated. Everything is sleek and the same shades of gray and white, the tile floor is spotless beneath his feat, and the glass ceiling dozens of feet above his head. There’s a couple of plants by the stairs that Sam is guiding him towards and, honestly, Peter can’t tell if they’re fake or not. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So, what do you want? A tour of the Avengers floors or just your room for now? You’ll see most of it while walking towards your quarters anyway. And you’ll get a full tour of the faculty later, probably from Tony or Cap.” That is like the most Peter has ever heard Sam say at the same time. Peter is mostly focused on not slipping on the abnormally sleek stairs. Everything about this place screams Stark Industries. Or maybe Elon Musk. Tesla. Somehow he manages to find the answer to the question he barely heard.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, I mean if it’s not a problem, I’d like a basic rundown of the place. So I don’t embarrass myself if I get lost,” Peter says. They reach the platform thing above the foyer and he’s greeted with a large metal detector looking thing a couple feet away and a desk lady, like at hotels. Who puts the lobby </span>
  <em>
    <span>above</span>
  </em>
  <span> the foyer?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s fine, kid. I don't have anything better to do.” Sam walks through the metal detector (?) and turns around to raise a brow as Peter stands motionless on the other side. The teenager motions up and down with his finger towards the… machine. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What… is it?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Scans for weapons and biological anomalies. Also your face.” Desk Lady has looked up from her computer now, so Peter steps through. The light above him flashes green then yellow. Peter feels confusion and another wave of anxiety hits him but then a voice starts talking. Female, and Irish? He thinks it’s Irish. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter Parker. Multiple anomalies and mutations in cell structure.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Peter looks at the detector (?), “that’s quite cool. How does… she? How does she know what my cell structure looks like?” Sam scoffs and starts walking again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How am I supposed to know? I'm ex-military and fly around in a glorified jetpack. Ask Tony and his scientists.” They approach the desk, and like everything else around him, it’s dark gray and sleek. The type of desk only rich people have. “Hey, Clara. Do you have Parker’s badge?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Desk Lady, Clara, leans down and pulls open a drawer, there’s a couple seconds of shuffling before she sits straight again and slides a plastic card across the desk. He thanks her quietly and picks it up. Sam immediately starts walking again. It looks like one of those ID’s that hang around teacher’s necks on lanyards, except it’s mostly blank, with only two red lines on both ends. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s this for?” he asks as they reach an elevator. Sam holds his up to a black screen on the wall next to the metal doors and it flashes a green circle. He then grabs Peter’s and does the same. The doors slide open. He steps in.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re access badges. Red means Avenger, so you have access to all levels of the compound, the weaponry, warehouses, outdoor areas, and labs. Except Tony’s, Tony has to </span>
  <em>
    <span>invite</span>
  </em>
  <span> you into his lab. Bruce isn’t that pretentious, but you still have to ask.” Peter nods, flipping the access badge between his fingers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, Mr. Wilson, Mr. Parker. Where to?” Peter nearly jumps out of skin at the appearance of the same Irish woman’s voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> that?” He looks at the ceiling. There’s no speakers, or cameras, that he can see. Peter then realizes that there are no buttons in this elevator which is very weird and uncomfortable. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I am FRIDAY, Mr. Parker. Tony Stark’s personal AI and I run the compound. I am required to assist the Avengers if needed. Nice to meet you, Mr. Parker. Where to?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow. AI. That’s cool.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You can add it onto the list of things you wanna ask Stark about. 1A, Fri.” Sam leans against the wall. The elevator lurches and starts to move. Peter hasn’t been in an elevator since him, May, and Ben went to the Stark Expo and stayed in a hotel. That was what? Seven years ago?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The elevator lurches back to a stop a couple minutes later and the doors glide open, revealing a living room-esque area, with warm hardwood floors and a comfortable sitting area with tan couches. Peter walks around and observes. The kitchen is off to the side of the room, a couple steps up and very extensive. A rich person's kitchen, for sure. Around the staircase that creates a hole in the middle of the living area, there seems to be a conference room. About three hallways branch off from here. Down below, there’s another set of couches, a minibar, and a pool table. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nice, isn’t it?” Peter swallows around the lump in his throat and offers his best half-laugh. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s definitely a word.” Sam hooks his arm around Peter’s shoulder again and points down a hallway.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Down there are Wanda and Vision’s rooms, and a half-bath,” he points towards a different corridor, “That’s Steve’s area, bedroom, office and personal bathroom. Lucky bastard.” Peter half-laughs again. “Then Natasha and Rhodey’s rooms are down the other one.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where’s mine?” is the best Peter is able to come up with as a newfound feeling of wanting to flee crawls through his body without his permission. Suddenly, this has become too much. Far too much. Peter follows Sam down the stairs with shaky knees, another hallway branches out once they hit the bottom floor. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yours is down there. It’s the smallest one and has a private bath, since I thought you’d appreciate that. It used to be Rhodey’s but after his injury, the stairs became a problem, so he’s up there now. I’m down the hall across from this one, in case you wanted to know. Tony is down there, too, but he’s always in his lab, so that doesn’t really matter. Clint doesn’t live here, ‘cause he hates us. If Thor is here, he’ll usually crash on the couch, but he’s normally in Norway.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam has definitely noticed the panic Peter is desperately trying to internalize, because he keeps looking at him and he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>talking</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Too much for Sam. Sam listens and jokes, he doesn’t ramble. That’s Peter’s thing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, he leads Peter to his room and stands in the door as Peter spins in a circle and takes it all in. His own room. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll let you get settled. I’ll be around so when you feel like going shopping in a couple hours, come find me,” is the last thing Sam says before the door closes behind him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter plops down on the bed and it sinks beneath his weight like a marshmallow. It feels strange. The bathroom is blocked from his vision by a foggy glass door, but right next to it is a bookcase, mostly empty but still containing novels, classics. There’s a desk in the corner, nothing on it, yet. A beanbag slouches next to the bed and it’s fuzzy? He’s never seen a fuzzy bean bag. He can tell that his closet is huge, because it has those folding doors that you pull on, and there’s no reason to have folding doors unless the closet is huge. Finally, the rug beneath his shoes is white and silky soft. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter stands back up, toes off his shoes, and walks to the bathroom. The counter is marble, the tiles spotless, the shower elegant and large. Peter leans over the porcelain skin and splashes ice-cold water on to his face until it stings. This crossed the line marking ‘too much’ a while ago.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony gave them a five thousand dollar credit card (Peter almost passed out. Seriously. Sam had to steady him.) for their shopping spree and after returning to the compound and unloading the bags, his closet was now half full of shirts and sweaters, his shoe rack was full, and he had some stuff for his room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The dark blue walls had some paintings, he had a lamp that matched his bed, and more books to fill the bookcase. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shopping with Sam had been exhausting, the man moved too fast between stores to keep up with and he made Peter show what the clothes he picked out looked like. It was like he was playing eeny meeny miny mo when it came to choosing outfits. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After his feet started to ache and even his superhuman arms were being weighed down by the bags, him and Sam stopped by Andy’s deli to eat and like before, Peter scarfed down a tuna melt. Sam had watched him while munching much slower and when Peter finally finished acting like a starved feral dog, he said, “we should probably see if Bruce has any dietician friends, so we can figure out how to help you gain weight without hurting yourself.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter had nodded and pretended like the idea of Sam caring enough about his health to get an actual dietician didn’t make his heart warm. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When they had gotten back, it was already dark. Sam told him goodnight after dropping off the bags in his room and left quietly as Peter looked out the window. He could actually see the stars from where the compound was located, away from the smog and pollution of the city. It was wonderful. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lying down to sleep is where things sort of went wrong. Just like it had when he first sat down, his weight causes the bed to dip perfectly, the comforter was heavy and soft, and the pillows basically formed a cradle for his head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter had been sleeping on old hoodies and threadbare blankets with nothing but his backpack to save his head from the concrete floor of the warehouse for close to three years. The difference is nothing less than extreme, obviously. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He tosses and turns for hours, but the memory foam accommodates him perfectly no matter how he contorts his limbs or flips around. He’s exhausted, so he can’t just not sleep in this perfect bed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This is how Peter finds himself shuffling across the room as quietly as possible, even if there is no possible way anyone could hear him, and pry open the door. The trip towards the corridor opposite of his is nerve wracking but he makes it to Sam’s room without any trouble. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He winces as he knocks, the sound practically a bomb in the silent compound, but doesn’t move. Eventually, after waiting for a couple minutes, he hears Sam sit up and walk across the room before opening the door. Peter winces and feels guilt slap him in the face at the tired look on Sam’s face but he’s already here, so.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, kid,” Sam’s voice is a raspy murmur, “what’s up?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter crosses his arms as the embarrassment suddenly hits him, “I, uh, I can’t sleep. The bed’s too soft.” he whispers. For some reason, this makes a horribly sad expression morph Sam’s face, and without another word, the door opens wider. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“C’mon, Pete. We can share. If you kick me, though, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> get booted to the floor.” Peter appreciates the joke and relaxes marginally, stepping into the spacious room. He can’t make out much other than the floor. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam collapses back on to his bed and gets comfortable immediately. Peter shuffles over to the other side and gingerly lays down, curling up on to his side and pulling the blanket up to his neck. The bed is still a bed, which is enough of a difference for Peter to feel out of place, but it’s not memory foam, and it’s not a marshmallow. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter is able to fall asleep with the help of the firmer mattress and Sam’s steady breathing. He falls asleep not worrying about tomorrow and it’s like something clicks inside his head because he</span>
  <em>
    <span> smiles.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <b>+1.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter tries to adjust and only semi-fails. He takes his habits from the street with him - because they’re not something he can just leave behind - including keeping his footsteps as silent as possible and kind of hoarding and rationing food each day. But he also learns how to talk about himself, and style his hair, and sleep in a bed again. It’s… refreshing? Freeing? It makes his heart sing a certain tune he hasn’t heard in awhile, like a song from childhood. He can’t really identify the feeling he gets when he doesn’t have to struggle to find food, or curl up as tight as possible and wrap the blankets around himself, or have the choice to leave his room past 11 PM. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Having friends is new. If friends are what you can call the Avengers. Him and Sam have a relationship that’s well-developed by now, Peter would probably call it brotherly. He’s sure Sam thinks of him as the homeless kid that happened to be Spider-Man, but to Peter, Sam is like his protector, even if he doesn’t really need one. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Once Tony found out that Peter crafted the web-slingers and his webs, he started this weird habit of showing up at random times to have a sort of one-sided conversation. Tony mostly talked...  and talked… and talked. Sporadically and rapidly, jumping from subjects like his own traumatic past when it came to being a superhero, to his current science project, to giving random bits of advice. It’s strange, but Peter finds that he doesn’t mind that much. Tony is entertaining, gravitating in a way that only people who have been dealing with press all their life can be, and as charming as the tabloids say he is. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter doesn’t attempt to strike up conversation with the others often. He turns into Wanda’s personal taste-tester when she’s in the kitchen. When Clint is visiting most days of the week, he’s the one that sort of forces Peter into watching movies and shows that the teen has missed out on. He talks to Bruce about physics and chemistry, asks way too many questions while doing so, and absorbs everything the doctor can offer to him in terms of knowledge. Peter doesn’t see Natasha or Steve that often, the captain choosing to stay in his quarters and only visit if he’s satisfied with the work he’s done that day, Natasha doesn’t stay in her room, but she doesn’t really invite conversation all that often. Vision tends to follow Wanda around, cooking with her, or sitting with her in the living area. Peter thinks there’s something there that only he’s acknowledging, but he refuses to bring it up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He has his first Christmas with other people a couple weeks after moving in and it’s the most hectic two days of his life. Pepper (who he met earlier that </span>
  <em>
    <span>day</span>
  </em>
  <span> and who Peter is terrified of) stresses out in the kitchen for most of the twenty-fourth, Wanda right beside her, and occasionally Steve will step in to open cans or cut stuff up. It seems like everyone chooses the Eve of Christmas to do their shopping, since Peter is dragged by Sam into the city and they run into almost everyone while discreetly buying children’s toys or Avengers’ merch.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The entirety of the holiday is spent watching these heroes throw wrapping paper and cardboard boxes at each other at seven in the morning, Pepper stress out more while preparing the dinner, and then snuggling up in the middle of a giant pile consisting of Avengers’ limbs while they bicker about which Christmas classic to watch. Clint has a Santa hat on, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>somehow</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it stays on his head the entire day. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter gets things like knitted jumpers, books, a painting from Steve, and tiny little knick-knacks to put on his dresser. He eats small pieces from everything that’s been cooked, trying his best to keep the meal small so his shrunken stomach doesn’t reject it. He goes to bed at two AM that night, warm and content. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Two days later, he starts training. The word training was used by Steve and Tony who are apparently in charge of the Avenger’s Training Program, which doesn’t make sense at all since those two can’t go two minutes without threatening bodily injury. In reality, the first day of ‘training’ is spent in a part of the gym that Peter hasn’t seen anyone use the three other times he’s been in there. Steve and Tony use up his free-time that morning by making him run on a treadmill for, like, thirty minutes, crawl up and down a wall so many times that Peter just starts walking up it instead, they force him to lift weights which Peter has </span>
  <em>
    <span>many</span>
  </em>
  <span> choice words for, and then finally, Tony pulls his finger prints and leaves the gym. The teeanger really isn’t that exhausted but he still dramatically collapses on to the floor and groans in agony. He hears Steve chuckle from somewhere around him and then a cold water bottle drops onto his chest. He sits up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You did good,” Steve says, sitting down on a bench. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks. In all honesty, I was expecting more for the first day.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, obviously, it’s not over, yet.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And, God, was the captain not exaggerating. The first week wasn’t horrible, it was more work then Peter was used to, but he could handle it. Monday of the second week was like getting hit by a train. Monday’s challenge happened to be a sparring lesson with Natasha. And while Peter knew not to underestimate an Avenger, he was expecting </span>
  <em>
    <span>some</span>
  </em>
  <span> slack, given that he has never had any type of combat training. Natasha either didn’t realize this or didn’t care. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s knocked onto the thick mats of the sparring ring more times than he can even try to keep count of. He lands at every angle, front, back, both sides, knees, even his head. Somehow, with her magical assassin powers, Natasha manages to predict his every move then use it against him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, when he’s on his knees and hunched over, sweaty, breathless, and aching, he looks up at the redhead. “Is there a part in this,” he waves a hand uselessly, “where you actually explain </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> you’re doing that?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She gives him one of her smirks and offers a hand. He stares at it in defiance and then finally takes it and stands once again. He steadies himself and waits for her to do something. She steps closer, grabs his hands and adjusts them into a fighting stance, then she kicks at his feets until they’re separated and steps back. “This is how you set up. It’s completely wrong. You’re as open as a book, anyone with any knowledge of combat could predict what your first move is. Your left foot is back, so you’re obviously going to throw your right fist. Your posture is horrid, giving away your experience, and you're not resting on your toes.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How did I survive three years on the streets?” he mutters, mostly to himself, as he tries to fix everything she just listed was wrong about his form. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Luck, probably. Lesson’s over.” He gapes, fists still hung in the air awkwardly and perching on his toes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Really? I don’t get to win once?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’d pass out from exhaustion before you managed to get me to yield, Parker. Your next session is with Sam on Thursday.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The feeling of relief that came with that knowledge was severely wrong to be there, turns out, because Sam Wilson either has too many pent up emotions or the whole friend act was a ploy. Peter is actually bruising by the time he limps off the training mats, still sore from Monday and now bruised because of Sam. Do you know how hard it is to bruise Peter? Hard. Do you know how much harder it is to get bruises to </span>
  <em>
    <span>stay</span>
  </em>
  <span> on Peter for longer than five minutes? Very hard.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam’s cackles and wheezing ring in his ears as he grabs his fourth water from the cooler. He plops down on a bench and chugs it so fast he gets nauseous. “Peter, stop pouting and get back over here.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter stares at him incredulously. “Sir, I just got my ass beaten by my best friend like thirty times in a row. I think I’m allowed a moment to grieve.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Something in Sam’s expression brightens at ‘best friend’ but he doesn’t say anything about the label. Instead, he just rolls his eyes and then focuses back on the teenager, “grieve what?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I don’t know. My pride? My joints? I think every single one of my ribs?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam throws his head back and laughs some more. “Your ribs are fine, Parker,” he says after a moment, “now get over here and fight me.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The training session ends with the final score being something like 32-1. Sam offers his condolences via fixing the both of them dinner and sitting down to watch all of the Back to the Futures with him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Be honest, “ Peter starts, talking over Marty McFly dialogue, “how am I doing?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“With what?” Sam’s not even focused on the TV, choosing to instead look down at his phone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I dunno… everything?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam looks up then. He sighs when he looks at Peter and then puts an arm around his shoulders and pulls him closer to his side. “I think,” Peter feels him inhale, “that you are a kid, surrounded by people with years of experience underneath their belts, as well as superpowers. I think, in my professional opinion, that you need to stop being so hard on yourself, because you’re doing incredibly well for the situation you're in.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter blinks and focuses back on the TV. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That was a couple months ago, and he’s tried harder every day since then. He’s not skin and bones anymore, and actually has muscles that aid him in sparring. Tony builds him a training simulation that is far too real, but he manages to beat after a while. Natasha doesn’t let him win, and never yields, but now he can hold his own for more than twenty seconds. Him and Sam are more evenly matched nowadays, with Sam getting the upper hand only when using Peter’s own moves against him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As he progresses and as he gets more comfortable, he finds himself receiving Dr. Banner’s advice for staying calm while on a mission, getting coached through breathing techniques and positive thinking. He has a long conversation about trusting your team and your gut with Steve one day that somehow comforts him. Another conversation happens with Wanda, where she tells him about her own anxiety at the beginning and Clint’s speech to her in Sokovia. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He gets included in team exercises somewhere around month three, going through different simulations that FRIDAY puts together with different criteria each time. Aliens are particularly stressful. He learns that his role for the beginning is disarming and helping the others when needed. Tony tells him that once he gets the opportunity to run with them for real, that things like getting paired with someone to accomplish something or having a big boss to handle on his own will become a thing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And apparently that opportunity decides to show three weeks later. It’s a bomb threat right outside Brooklyn, Steve thinks it’s HYDRA, so he requests backup. He ends up choosing Sam, Natasha, and Peter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The planning process is long and tedious and stressful, especially due to the fact that they do have to be careful of time. They don’t have days, or even a lot of hours to get this done. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The bare bones of the plan come while sitting on the floor of a hotel, surrounding a map of the neighborhood that was supposedly planted. Steve’s got his captain voice on, while Sam and Nat sit stoic and focused. Apparently, they’re targeting a government official, no one overly important but still government. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s already been evacuated from the area, he’s under watch at the NYPD headquarters.” Steve says and a weird feeling of dread settles deep in Peter’s stomach. “Right now our main goal is evacuating civilians and disabling the bombs, we have a bomb squad to assist us once we find the locations.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So, what? We’re running aimlessly around a Brooklyn neighborhood looking for c-4s?” Sam looks between Natasha and Steve incredulously, “yeah that sounds like a real game plan.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s the only one we have. We don’t have any informants, and it’s not like Hydra is gonna hand us a map with the locations marked. That’s why civilian evacuation is our main priority.” Natasha levels his argument with a single eyebrow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” all eyes immediately swivel to Peter and it makes him want to clamp his mouth shut again, but he’s able to clear his throat awkwardly and persevere, “so, how … are we supposed to evacuate people in the masses that we need to get out without alerting the soviet trained Hydra goons that are probably roaming the streets?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, chances are they already know we’re here.” Peter blinks. “We’re the ones that took them down, remember? They probably have our faces plastered up around every standing base with darts sticking out of our eyes.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Okay.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As time crawls on with the growing battle plan, the pit in his stomach turns into a gaping black hole that starts sucking all the air out of his lungs. By the time Steve and Nat are stepping out of the hotel’s front entrance and Sam and Peter are crawling on to the roof via fire escape, his sixth sense is clearly trying to get him to pay attention. He doesn’t know what to pay attention to, though. Pesky gut-feeling thing, it’s never specific enough. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>While Sam hides out behind roof structures and takes in the view of Prospect Heights through the robot eyes of Redwing, Peter crawls and leaps along the edges of the apartment buildings. The whole strategy is Redwing finds the thermal readings of the packages and Peter discretely finds the plain clothed bomb squad and points out the location. Nat and Steve are doing a similar strategy except with less tech and more spying, they’re mostly focusing on the civilian evacuation and finding the criminals. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The locating of bombs is taking a lot longer than Peter would expect. Everytime they find a new one, Peter thinks that it has to be the last, but it… isn’t. The longer he spends with aching shoulder and knee joints from cramping himself so close to the brick of random buildings, the more he thinks that there’s a lot they’re missing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoaaa…” Sam’s crackly voice comes from Peter’s comm, and the teen freezes immediately.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uhh… I see something. Looks like they’ve got a lot more punches to dish out before they’re ready to leave. I’m seeing a basement, I think of an apartment building. It’s packed.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How much?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Too much.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Panic surges up Peter’s throat, seizes his trachea, and if his fingers weren’t as stubbornly sticky as they are, he would’ve fallen. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve gotta go now, Pete. Redwing’ll keep pinging locations for you to handle the smaller packages, but I’ve gotta get control of this, now. All of the bombs that we’ve already disabled won’t mean a thing if they detonate… all of this.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s instincts start absolutely blaring in his head. He actually winces. Without thinking, he blurts out, “Sam, wait! Hold on, I’ll go with you. Just ring Steve real quick and tell him that we’ve something we need to handle. Him and Natasha can handle the rest.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam chuckles and Peter’s brow creases. He’s not taking him seriously. “Peter, thank you for your concern, but I’ve been around bombs… a lot, in my life, okay? I can rally together a few officers. Just keep doing what we’ve been doing.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sam, I’m serious. I’ve got a bad feeling.” Even as he says it, his heart sinks like something bad has already happened. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I get it, Peter, I do, but I’ve got this. I’m the Falcon, remember?” Peter can hear the smirk in his voice, the confidence practically palpable through the comm. “Plus, I’m already there. It’ll take two seconds, I prom-” Static crackles horribly in his ear and Peter flinches hard. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sam. Sam?” He taps his earpiece and more static crackles but no Sam. “Shit-” He pulls out his phone and quickly calls Steve. The call goes through immediately. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, hi, sorry. Uh, Sam saw something that Redwing detected and got freaked out about it. He said there was a-a basement full of c-4’s and that what we had already disabled wouldn’t have mattered if it was detonated. I don’t know where it is, but when he got there, the comm cut out. I told him I had a bad feeling but he wouldn’t listen to me,” Peter speaks all in one breath. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter, I know you and Sam are close, but if he says he’s got it, then-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>“Okay, so both of you aren’t trusting me. Sorry to cut you off, Cap, but you aren’t listening. I’ve got a bad feeling. This isn’t about my protective streak or paranoia, I have a </span><em><span>bad</span></em> <em><span>feeling</span></em><span>.” </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s silence. Peter feels guilty for a second, but at this point, it’s like someone’s got the most obnoxious setting for an alarm going off inside of his head and he doesn’t have time for hero worship. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t... have time…  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Why doesn't he have time? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter hangs up before he can think about the fact that Captain America is on the opposite end. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t have time. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam doesn’t have time. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter closes his eyes and lets the raw instinct of panic set in, focuses on the hairs raised on the back of his neck and the blood that’s roaring in his ears. He’s moving before he can even process where his senses are telling him to go. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He knows not to swing right now, but takes less precaution than he was before. He sprints across the roofs and leaps from the edges until he’s breathless. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t know how, but he knows when he gets there. It’s a simple brownstone, maybe 12 stories high. He doesn’t take the time to count before rushing in and finding the closest pathway to the basement. When his foot hits the second step, he’s suddenly assaulted with the sound of knuckles hitting bone, pained grunts, and hushed words that he can’t quite make out. Sam. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He starts skipping three steps at a time until he hits the bottom floor, looking up to find double doors that scream danger. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He shoves through them without second thought. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For a second, when he first steps inside, he’s suddenly back in the alleyway, surrounded and threatened for his coat. This is what Sam saw that day. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Except now </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> the one on the floor, bleeding from the temple and desperately trying to get back to his feet. He’s surrounded. Six men in face-covering helmets and bulky bullet-proof vests keep him down, while one - without the facemask, horrendously burned, and obviously pissed - goes crazy with his fists. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey!” Peter shouts, and it comes out surprisingly strong. The man stops, fist raised to meet Sam’s nose that’s already broken. He turns slowly. Peter fixes himself into a steadier position, feet planted and ready. The threat of going out with a boom surrounds him in wooden crates. “Step back, man.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam fixes him with a stare that’s half swollen and there’s anger there, he thinks, but also relief. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Two of the men holding him down charge at Peter with a signal from the maskless guy. They’re bulky and strong, but Peter manages to send them sprawling and webbed to the ground securely within seconds. A grin overcomes Maskless and it sends another wave of panic through Peter’s chest. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You seem like you have potential. This your buddy?” Maskless’ voice is hoarse and almost as burned out as his skin, like he’s spent hours screaming. A new round of chills overcomes Peter. Maskless grips Sam by the collar of his suit and pulls him harshly to his knees. Sam grunts and glares hard at the man, Peter makes a mistake out of emotion and takes a step forward. Maskless grins again and nods towards Sam. “Y’know, this guy,” he gestures aggressively, “is the reason I look like this.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not like you didn’t deserve it. Fuckin’ nazi.” Sam mutters. Maskless, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nazi</span>
  </em>
  <span> apparently, growls and throws Sam onto his back again, the three others pin him harshly with the thick rubber soles of their boots. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Keep your distance, Spidey,” Maskless, Nazi, whoever the hell, pulls a remote from the empty gun holster around his waist. Peter freezes. “Or this place goes up with all of us.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m guessing this isn’t about the government guy, then. Mr. Quincy?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Maskless laughs and it’s a horrible sound, like a record scratch. “This was never about him, or even about this,” he waves the remote towards the crates that surround them, “it was only ever about, him… and his buddy.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Buddy?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>“Steve. Captain America! The bastard himself!” Maskless roars. His knuckles go white around the detonator. “Y’know I took </span><em><span>orders</span></em><span> from him? For </span><em><span>two</span></em> <em><span>years</span></em><span>? I followed him around because I </span><em><span>had</span></em><span> to. You know he’s reckless, right? He doesn’t </span><em><span>think</span></em><span>. I saw him jump out of a plane without a parachute. I saw him shatter an elevator with his shield and fall twenty stories on to </span><em><span>concrete</span></em><span>. He can throw his frisbee around all he wants but that doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t care enough to think about his own life.” </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And what about you? If this place were to blow right now, you’d be the first one to go.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If it meant that Cap’s best buddy went with me, I wouldn’t be all that mad.” There’s a heavy pause where Peter desperately tries to remember battle plan exercises with Tony and Cap, but nothing comes to mind. Maskless laughs once again. “Get him, boys.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s senses flare as a fist suddenly comes at his face. He’s suddenly drowning in the adrenaline of a fight, a real one, where the enemies don’t just pass through you if you get too close or stop when you hit the ground. He hasn’t been in one of these for awhile. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He tries to keep an eye on what Maskless is doing with Sam, but every time he manages to catch a glimpse, he’s being crowded away by another brainless goon. It takes longer to get the three down, given that he wasn’t prepared for them to charge him that quickly at all. They’re harder to knock out and quick to get up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They get in clean hits a little too often for Peter to stay completely steady on his feet. He’s getting tired and if he can feel it, they can too. He’s fumbling with his dodges and his punches are going too wide, like all the months of training with Sam and Nat have suddenly leaked out of his brain. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The only thing that brings him back from the cliff of giving in is the pained yell that’s seemingly ripped out of Sam’s chest. Without thinking, Peter bounds off a wall and manages to clear the heads of his three attackers in a flip that he barely lands. The first thing he sees when the soles of his feet hit the concrete is a knife buried to the hilt in Sam’s side. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s stomach drops. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His brain goes foggy and in a short minute, he’s pinned the battered and angry goons to the walls and floor. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he turns back around, Maskless has this look on his face like he understands everything about Peter. His grin goes sly and then his hand is back on the handle of the knife, and he’s twisting it. Sam lets out another yelp and Peter finds himself grinding his teeth together and taking a half step. It’s enough to tell Maskless what Sam means to him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So, this is Spidey’s weak spot… that’s interesting.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve got a lot of weak spots, actually. My ribs are very ticklish and puppies are the best way to get my guard down,” he tries to quip, and maybe he sees Sam smirk, but the nervousness makes his voice quiver. Maskless’ jaw clenches and then he’s jerking the knife out. Sam crumbles to the floor, pressing on his wound fiercely. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The fight that ensues is nothing that Peter is prepared for. Maskless is fast and ruthless, he fights dirty with tricks that Natasha did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> teach him how to counter, and the knife that’s covered in his friend’s blood comes way too close to his jugular way too often. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The vest is doing most of the blocking for Maskless, not doing any real damage other than putting him slightly off balance for a few seconds if Peter hits hard enough. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Anger is wafting off of this guy, burning in his eyes and delivering it’s message of ‘No Mercy’ through the clench of his jaw and the white-knuckled fist he swings at Peter’s head with. Each time Peter dodges or manages a clean hit, he can feel Maskless’ temper rise and the more it does, the more Peter worries that the detonator that’s been tucked back into his belt will come into play. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The thing is, Peter doesn’t know why he’s waiting. He had about a million chances while he and Peter were having their back and forth, he had a billion more while Peter was dealing with three grown men who are still struggling to get off the walls. Maybe he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> scared to die, the whole “as long as he goes down with me, I’m fine” could’ve been a bluff. Or maybe he knows Cap is trying to find them and is waiting for his two arch-enemies to be in the same deathtrap. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At some point it turns into using Sam’s tactics against him but against Maskless once Peter realizes that they both fight eerily similar. He starts playing dirty back, using his webs to trip Maskless up, using the walls as leverage to land kicks to his face. That’s when he’s able to land a hit hard enough to Maskless’ jaw that it sends him sprawling. Peter perches on his toes, waiting for him to get back up like the other times, but he stays motionless. Peter relaxes, slowly letting his fists drop, and then bolts to Sam. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey. Hey, Sammy,” Peter lands on his knees next to Sam. His eyes blink open slowly. The hand on his side has lost it’s fierce grip and blood is leaking out between his fingers. There’s a pretty sizable pool gathering on the concrete. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, kid.” He mutters. He’s out of his head right now, like he just came out of surgery. Peter frantically looks around to try and find something to bind the wound for now and his eyes end up finding his web shooters. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh. Okay. This might hurt a bit, sorry.” Sam lets out a groan and grits hit teeth together as Peter carefully covers the bleeding wound with webfluid. He lets out a big breath once he deems it suitable and sits back, grabbing Sam’s wrist. He briefly feels his pulse and luckily feels it still going semi-strong. “Okay, let’s go.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He gets an arm around Sam’s back and lifts. Sam struggles into a sitting position, still clenching his jaw, and manages to get to his feet with the help of Peter’s strength. They hobble to the double doors and Sam mutters something about spraining his ankle</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t believe you took down six soveit trained, Hydra goons by yourself while I got my ass kicked,” Sam grumbles, tightening his hold on Peter’s shoulders as he tries to push open the door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But, (why is there always a but??) before they can start the surely painful and difficult journey up the stairs. A chuckle stops them. Peter doesn’t turn around to acknowledge it but he stops in his tracks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You think it’s that easy?” Maskless’ ragged voice reaches him, “you think you can take this away from me!?” Peter’s instincts flare up once again and he whirls around, leaving Sam standing on his own. He manages on his feet for a couple seconds before landing hard on his knees. Peter hears a soft ‘son of a bitch.’ </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When his eyes land on Maskless, he’s sitting up, rattling with anger, and holding the detonator in his fist. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>detonator</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Peter’s an idiot. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been waiting three years for this!” he screams and time slows down to a screeching, terrifying pace. Peter sees it coming from a mile away, but can’t make himself move. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His thumb lands on the button. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a terrifying second of silence, and then time speeds back up. Peter jumps into action and turns back around to shield Sam. He can only hear his panicked breathing and rabbiting heart as he crouches low over Sam’s form. He’s waiting for the blast, the whoosh of hot air, the scorch of fire. And then there’s nothing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s nothing but the roar of fire and the loudest scream Peter has ever heard, raw and agonised and deafening. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s trembling body slowly turns, barely thinking while he’s doing it. He’s greeted with the sight of a red mist blocking the open doors entrance. Fire beats up against it, thrashing around like a wild animal, snarling and snapping towards Peter’s face, but the red mist doesn’t let it pass. Maskless’ screaming cuts off like someone just hung up on his life. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter collapses backwards, Sam is struggling to sit up and watch as well, but Peter can tell he’s processed what’s happened. Peter is struggling with that bit. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter! Get his other arm, c’mon!” Natasha’s voice rings in his ears and he turns away from the mesmerizing dance of the fire to see her crouching to support sam. He moves, copying Nat, and hoisting Sam up to his feet again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When they’re finally walking back towards the stairs, Peter sees Wanda clenching her teeth and her powerful red mist swirling around her hands. She’s just wearing pajamas and her hair is up in a messy bun. As they pass, she doesn’t acknowledge them, but Peter thinks he might've seen her eyes sparking red. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They reach the lobby, miraculously. Sirens are already wailing a couple blocks away and there's a crowd of spectators gathering around the front of the apartment. Steve immediately steps in to take Peter’s spot in supporting Sam. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter, standing like the movie of his life was just paused, watches as the blaring ambulance pulls up to the curb and the paramedics jump out to assist Sam. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Both Steve and Nat turn around to call something to Peter, but he’s already passed out by then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s buzzing. Like the most annoying bee in the world is hovering inside of his ear. There’s also lights that are cutting through his eyelids to burn his pupils. There’s also noise, noise that he can’t hear clearly because of the buzzing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter makes an incomprehensible noise and raises a hand to make a nonsensical gesture towards the closest thing making noise. Everything quiets down. Peter hears a beeping, but it sounds like it’s underwater, or maybe two rooms away. There’s a throbbing in his head that Peter assigns to the sound of multiple heartbeats. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes blinks open and he winces, drawing his hand up to cover them again. They dim before he manages to do so. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he can see again, there are a handful of faces crowding in the room he’s in. The room he’s in. A pale blue and white-tiled room. Hospital. Not a regular hospital, though. Avengers. He’s back at the compound. The Avengers are gathering around him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, boy scout.” Obviously, Tony speaks first. He’s softer than usual though, or maybe that’s just the buzzing muting his overzealous personality. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” he murmurs. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah!” someone very loud exclaims, “He is like the tiny wolf pups we have in the new Asgard!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter startles. Everyone turns to scold the new voice. The new voice of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thor</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Really? He visits while Peter is unconscious?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thor, go! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Go</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Find Dr. Cho or something.” Peter hastily sits up as Tony swats Thor out of the room. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Once everyone has settled back into their place in crowding Peter’s hospital room he looks around. They act like they're waiting for something. Peter’s brain stutters and the best he can come up with is, “can I get three cheers for zero dead Peters?” It’s weak. Everyone glares at him. He rolls his eyes. “I’m not dead.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You could’ve been.” Steve is sitting closest to him, in the chair right by his bed. Natasha is by his side. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How’s Sam?” Peter asks instead of acknowledging </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Resting. Thirty-six stitches and a sedative later. He wanted to come see you before the painkillers had even kicked in,” Natasha says, something inherently and unnervingly </span>
  <em>
    <span>knowing</span>
  </em>
  <span> about her tone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s nice to know. Can I go see him now?” Peter reaches up to scratch at the itching on his temple, only to find a bandage. He makes a disgruntled noise and rips it off. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone simultaneously scolds him with a sharp, “Peter!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>? It’s fine.” He runs a thumb over where the bandage was and finds the skin unblemished. Tony rolls his eyes. Peter swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands. Everyone flinches like he’s gonna crack his head open on the bedside table. “Right. So where's Sam’s room?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’ll be asleep for another hour or so.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter pauses. “Okay. Where’s Wanda?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A smirk lights up Natasha’s face. “In her room, resting. Containing that blast took a lot out of her.” Peter feels guilt wash over him. He should’ve thought about the detonator. He shakes his head. The buzzing has faded, but it’s still annoying. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. I’m gonna go see her.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No one stops him as he walks out the door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s never been in Wanda’s room, he’s hardly even been in that section, but his overwhelming guilt complex prevents the awkwardness from being too much. He knocks gently on the door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Come in,” Wanda says. Her voice is sleepy and when he opens the door, all the lights are off and she’s laying on her bed. She cranes her neck to look at the open door and a soft smile curves her lips when she sees who’s there. “Hi, Pete.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey.” He shuffles over towards her bed. She sits up, yawns, and pats the comforter. Peter sits. “I just wanted to say thank you.” There’s a heavy pause and then he curls in on himself. “That was scary.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, it was. No one was expecting it to be Rumlow.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that what his name was?” Was. Because he’s dead. Peter’s heart crumples up like a crushed paper ball. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. He sucked.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then Peter bursts into tears like a toddler. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He covers his face and presses his forehead to his knees, his chest jumping with half breaths and hiccuping sobs. Wanda immediately shifts closer and he feels her hand land on his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter, if he hadn’t died, you and Sam would’ve,” she murmurs softly. He shakes his head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I could’ve gotten the remote. I knew he had it. If I wasn’t an <em>idiot</em>-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter, c’mon, you were worried about Sam. You aren’t an idiot for caring.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“B-but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I didn’t even think about it. We were surrounded by crates of </span>
  <em>
    <span>bombs</span>
  </em>
  <span> and I didn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Honey, come here.” Wanda’s arms come up to wrap around him and he hesitatingly turns but as soon as he feels it turn into an actual hug, his self-control crumbles and he buries his face in her shoulder. “I know it sucks, I know you feel like he didn’t deserve to die even though he was horrible. I feel the same way. I hate that I had to do that, but if I hadn’t then you and Sam and everyone else in that building would’ve died with him.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, but-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It would’ve been better if he was in prison, I know.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Everything quiets down after that. She hugs him until he stops hiccuping and the tears stop tracking down his face. He sniffles quietly and leans away, wiping at his cheeks with the ends of his sleeves. “I’m sorry,” he says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“For what?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know. Waking you up. Crying on your shoulder.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wanda laughs and pats his hair fondly. “It’s fine, Peter. It’s nice to have a brother around again.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter sits by Sam’s bedside for longer than he thought he would have to. It’s been a little over an hour and Sam is still dozing peacefully with butterfly bandages all over his face and a cast for that ‘sprained’ ankle. The bandages remind Peter of CVS and he can’t help the small grin that overtakes his face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Cho says that the injuries aren’t severe, that Peter got there before any further damage to Sam’s ribs or head could be sustained. The stab wound is deep, but the knife hadn’t aimed to kill. Steve tells Peter in a quiet voice that Rumlow was probably trying to get a reaction out of him, or distract him momentarily. Peter says that it succeeded. Steve half-smiles and says, “not nearly as well as he wanted it to.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Steve left fifteen minutes ago, a debriefing and lunch in his near future. Peter isn’t hungry, but Natasha brings him some freshly toasted Eggo waffles half drowned in syrup, glances at Sam, and then promptly leaves again. He eats mechanically and waits. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s scrolling through Twitter when a faint groan reaches his ears and his head snaps up. Sam has one hand over his eyes and Peter realizes that he’s going through the same motions Peter was. “Fri, dim the lights, please. And call Dr. Cho.” Peter stands, ignoring FRIDAY’s response. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam slowly removes his hand from his face and adjusts to the light. The first thing he does is not address Peter, but look down at his ankle cast and scoff in annoyance. “Son of a bitch…” Then he looks up at Peter, who is worriedly staring down at him. “Hey, kid.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” Peter says, fiddling with the cuffs of his sweater. “Are you okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam chuckles and shifts to sit up. Peter immediately goes to help. “I’m fine. My leg is in a cast and my head hurts a little, but other than that, I’m dandy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter scrunches his nose. “Who says dandy anymore?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam scoffs but doesn’t respond. It goes silent, and Peter sits back down, content to just be beside Sam as he shifts and untucks the sheets from under his legs. Once he’s deemed himself comfortable, he leans back on the headboard and looks at Peter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You went full martyr back there,” he says into the silence, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>wow,</span>
  </em>
  <span> was Peter not expecting that. When the teenager doesn't say anything, too busy recovering from that proclamation, Sam continues. “When Rumlow pressed the button, you crouched over me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, yep. Sounds like something I… did,” Peter fumbles as a response</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You also disobeyed my order to stay where you were and let me handle the basement.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It wasn’t really an </span>
  <em>
    <span>order-</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And you took down six HYDRA operatives by </span>
  <em>
    <span>yourself</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I did. Do that.” The teenager is getting warier of Sam’s continued recounting of the events that have happened in the past day by the second. Peter can’t tell if he’s testing his own memory or scolding Peter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam leans back on the pillow and stares at the ceiling tiles, chuckling. Peter can’t help but let a tiny grin overcome his own face. “You’re better at this then I thought you’d be.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, thanks?” Peter scrunches his nose in offense at Sam’s laughter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No problem, kid.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Silence envelops the room once again and Dr. Cho hasn’t shown up yet, so Peter fiddles with the ends of his sleeves again until he builds up the courage to ask, “can I give you a hug?” It comes out weak and meager, a little scared sounding. Peter wonders where the strong voice he used when confronting Rumlow went. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sam looks over at him, smile not fading, but changing to be more soft-edged and comfortable. “Yeah, sure, Pete. Just watch the leg.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter doesn’t need any more time to debate how severe the teasing will be after Sam is out of this room. He’s up and wrapping his arms around Sam’s shoulders in seconds, and maybe it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> just so he can hear his steady heartbeat a little more clearly but at least Peter has enough sense to not let </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> slip. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He pulls back when Sam winces, quickly realizing that the arm Sam had wrapped around Peter was pulling on the new stitches. The hand on Peter’s shoulder doesn’t let him leave from his spot next to the bed, though. Sam is smiling the same smile that gave Peter eighty bucks months ago. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Welcome home, Peter.” </span>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
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